


Breakdown

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Brother Banter, Car Sex, Established Relationship, Frottage, Gross Overestimation of the Size of the Impala's Interior, M/M, Sam POV, Unspecified Early Season, Wincest - Freeform, outside pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-04 16:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: The car breaks down and leaves Sam and Dean temporarily stranded and waiting for a tow, but the boys are pretty good at passing the time.





	Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I had to bail on my last SMPC post, sadly. August was a crazy month, y'all. Glad it's coming to an end, though with it also my maternity leave. Less than three weeks til I go back to work! And hopefully back to lots of writing, too. 
> 
> Andy had not only been kind enough to want to collab with me for last month's SMPC, but she also followed me to September when I switched dates (not to mention also switching fic ideas!) She's a crazy talented artist and I am so honoured that she wants to work with me so much <3 Her art is AMAZING. Check it out [here](https://merakieross.livejournal.com/13103.html)!
> 
> Anyway, the prompt for this is 100% Jen's fault. It was her idea, and she graciously allowed me to steal it for the purposes of a quicke for SMPC. 
> 
> Beta'd by my darlings Jen and Amanda <3
> 
> *Disclaimer: as tagged, I realize that I am making a lot of assumptions about the size of the Impala's back seat, but the muse wants what the muse wants, so... oh, well!
> 
> Title from Tom Petty's song of the same name.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Dean?” Sam startles awake and grabs for the dash as the car lurches and starts making a loud, drawn out sound that isn’t part of its normal repertoire.

“Goddammit,” Dean growls, and Sam can tell he’s angry at himself as he slows down and eases onto the gravel shoulder. They’re in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming after a gruelling two weeks tracking a pack of werewolves, and Sam distantly recalls a conversation from a few weeks ago which featured some maintenance Dean was meaning to get done.

Sam bites into his lower lip to keep from saying anything about it, painfully aware of how exhausted they both are. He watches Dean put the car in park and climb out without saying another word to him, moving around in front to open up the hood, flashlight in hand.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Dean says, quietly enough that Sam assumes he wasn’t supposed to hear, and he can’t help how his lips turn up at his brother’s deep, abiding love for their car.

“Need a hand?” Sam calls out the window, stretching a little after his interrupted nap.

“I’ll let you know,” Dean answers gruffly, irritated, and Sam nods quietly, resigned to staying in the car.

Sam settles in, bringing his legs up to rest on the bench in Dean’s spot, and laying back against his door. He shifts a little, trying to get comfortable, avoiding the tender spots on his ribs where he took a few hits, and sighs. The sun is still an hour or so from rising – they’d only been on the road a couple of hours since torching the pile of dead werewolves – and between the darkness and the rumble of the Impala’s engine, it had been too easy for Sam to doze off.

All they'd wanted was a motel. Maybe a bit to eat. A shower. Sleep. Their clothes are still splattered with blood, stiff where the stains are dry, and they stink, the odor of burning flesh still clinging to them enough to catch if they breathe too deeply. They haven’t slept more than a few hours since they started looking into the heartless bodies turning up at the local morgue and they’ve had time to fuck around even less. Sam’s skin feels tight, crawling both with the need to get clean and get off, and Dean can’t be faring much better.

There’s the hushed sound of his brother cursing on the other side of the hood, and then Sam listens to Dean’s footsteps as he moves around to dig something out of the trunk.

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep again but all of a sudden the driver side door opens and Dean swats at his legs, apparently waking him up. He blinks his eyes open and groggily pulls his legs out of the way, curling up on his side of the bench as Dean slides in behind the steering wheel. Sam is reaching for his seatbelt when he realizes Dean isn’t putting the keys in the ignition, pulling out his phone instead. He flips it open and dials while Sam raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean says when the line picks up and Sam forgets about the seatbelt with a defeated sigh, leaning back against the window. “I know it’s early, sorry old man. We’ll make it up to you. The Impala’s crapped out on me.”

Dean is quiet and there’s muffled mumbling from Bobby across the line that Sam can’t quite make out.

“Yeah, the transmission is shot. We’re gonna need a tow…” Dean continues and Sam tries not to groan as the relief of a hot shower and a fresh bed leaps hours more out of reach. Dean tells Bobby where they are, which, all things considered, is pretty close to Sioux Falls, only a few hours out, and Sam tries to be glad they aren’t halfway across the country instead.

“Thanks, Bobby. See you soon.”

There’s a click as Dean shuts the phone and then his big brother is sighing too, sounding just as done as Sam feels. There’s a beat of quiet, nothing but the sounds of the early, early morning outside, not another car for miles, and the brief shuffling of Dean relaxing into the seat.

Without moving, Sam peeks at his brother through one open eye, finds Dean with his head tilted back on the seat, both hands in his lap, one still holding his cell phone, looking back at him in the same way. It’s stupid, and maybe it’s the exhaustion, but it makes Sam smile. Dean sees of course, is watching, and then he’s grinning like he’s won something. They’re stuck on the side of the road, filthy and tired and sore, but Dean can still look like that, beautiful and happy. Sam can’t comprehend having anything to do with that, but Dean is fucking beaming at him in the near-darkness, and Sam tries to hold back the grin threatening to answer his brother’s but he can’t.

“‘Attaboy, Sammy.” Dean sits up, stowing the cell phone in the dash and angling his body towards Sam.

Sam laughs a little in an effort to disguise the warm, pleased feeling that makes his cheeks hot just from Dean’s silly, throwaway praise. Still, he mirrors his brother, sitting up despite the aches and twisting to face him, but not without nudging Dean’s knee with his foot as he moves. “What’re you so damn happy about?”

Dean snorts and shrugs. “‘M not. It’s my fault she needs such a fix and now we’re stuck here. I’m tired, most of me hurts, I’m fuckin’ starving, and, _Christ_ , it’s been way too long…” He grabs at his jaw a moment, rubbing his hand across his face, and when he lets his eyes find Sam’s again, even in the low light, Sam can tell well enough where this is going.

“Dean, c’mon,” Sam protests, albeit weakly. He’s definitely not feeling up to all the contortion that sex in the car usually entails, but Dean is very persuasive when he wants to be, and Sam would be lying if he said he didn’t like to be persuaded. “You can’t be serious.”

“About you? Always, little brother.” Dean’s expression is lecherous now, and Sam scoffs at him but doesn’t move away when he leans in to kiss him.

It shouldn’t still be like this, after all this time and all the kisses between them, Sam is sure, but it is. Dean’s tongue teases at the seam of his lips and pushes inside, and the first taste of his brother’s mouth is like a shock to his system in the best way. It wakes up his whole body, sets a fire burning low in his stomach, and sends his blood rushing south.

Sam is breathing heavily when Dean moves his kisses from his mouth to his jaw, and– when did he grab onto Dean’s shirt like that?

“Thought you weren’t interested,” Dean teases smugly against Sam’s ear before dragging his teeth along the shell of it and making him shiver.

“Ugh, I’m n–” Sam starts to argue, just on principle, just to see how much he can make Dean work for it, but Dean is one step ahead of him, reaching between them to rub at Sam’s dick where it’s trying to bust out of his jeans, and the words get swallowed up by a groan.

“Uh huh,” Dean continues in mock consideration, and Sam’s hips push up against his brother’s hand impulsively. “Definitely not interested.”

He nips at Sam’s neck, then seals his mouth over the bite and sucks while he single-handedly undoes Sam’s pants.

“Dean–” Sam gasps, and he tries pathetically to push at Dean’s chest in a last-ditch effort to play at hard to get.

His brother leans back, leaving a blood-warm, spit-soaked spot at the base of Sam’s neck, and he laughs.

“Quit being a little bitch,” he says as he pushes right back, shuffling away on the seat as he makes Sam lay against his door. There’s no heat or aggression, just a fondness that tells Sam he knows exactly what Sam’s playing at. Luckily, when they play this game, there are no losers.

“J-jerk,” Sam shoots back out of habit, but it’s stuttered and breathy on account of Dean’s rough fingers closing around the length of him, pulling him out of his briefs, and then Dean gives him one more triumphant and hungry grin, a flash of white in the dark, before leaning down in the space he made between them to take Sam into his mouth.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Sam moans, one hand reaching out to brace himself against the dash and the other going for Dean’s head, burying it in the hair on top that’s just long enough to grab.

Even as his fingers tighten around the short strands, Sam tries not to pull, just following the movement of Dean’s head as he bobs up and down his dick, mouth parted obscenely. Sam would try to keep his eyes open to watch it but it’s dark enough that he lets his head fall back against the window with a dull thud. Dean makes a sound akin to a chuckle around his mouthful, and then sucks him, hard. Sam shudders and his hips jerk up impulsively, forcing him deep. Dean grunts and Sam lets him go, stuttering out _sorry_ , but Dean just looks up at him, the corners of his eyes glistening, and how is it even possible he still manages to look so fucking smug right now? He goes back to it, this time with an arm across Sam’s hips.

Dean is ruthless and Sam is at his mercy, writhing where Dean has him pinned to the seat, panting and moaning. It doesn’t take long before Sam can feel himself barrelling towards the edge, toes starting to curl, and he gives Dean’s hair a tug to warn him.

“De, I’m–” is as far as he gets before he’s shooting down his brother’s throat. Dean stills, holds the tip of his dick between his lips as he swallows it down. He hums as he works Sam through it, and Sam swears he feels the gentle vibrations rattle in his chest.

Sam sighs as his body sags, loose and heavy, and he drags his fingernails absently through Dean’s hair as his brother licks him clean, gentle as he tucks him back into his pants.

In the next moment, Dean is leaning over him, kissing him again, and that fire in Sam’s gut flares hotly for the taste of himself on Dean’s tongue. He lets Dean devour his mouth, kissing back lazily with lips that want to smile.

“What do you–” Sam starts to ask between kisses, one hand reaching for the undoubtedly aching bulge in his brother’s pants, but Dean is already moving away.

“Nuh uh,” he says as he ditches his dirty jacket. “Backseat, Sasquatch.”

Then Dean is up and over the back of the front bench in a graceless move that makes Sam laugh. Dean situates himself with his back to the side door, stretching one leg across the bench and letting the other fall over the edge of the seat, arms open in a clear invitation for Sam to make himself comfortable on his lap.

Sam blinks for a moment as it sinks in that Dean is serious, then he shrugs out of his own jacket, too. He reaches to push down his still open jeans but Dean shakes his head.

“Leave ‘em, Sammy. Just get back here and gimme that ass. Not gonna last,” he huffs out, his voice rough with want, waving his hands _come on already_.

Sam awkwardly climbs over into the back and then onto Dean’s lap, one knee wedged between his brother and the seat, the other down with his foot on the floor of the car.

“Dean– _oof_ ,” Sam starts, unsure in this position, but his brother’s big hands are on his hips, tugging him forward, and as Sam gets jostled around, the hard line of Dean’s dick presses up against his ass, demanding even through two layers of denim. Sam opens his mouth to say something else but Dean sits up to meet him.

“God, just move,” he urges against Sam’s lips, his grip tightening on Sam’s hips, forcefully directing him.

Sam is lax under his hands, goes easily into the back and forth push-pull, letting Dean be in control. He holds on to Dean’s shoulders with both hands, their noses bumping as Dean bites at his mouth and he keeps his head ducked to avoid knocking it on the roof.

“Fuck yeah, just like that, Sammy,” Dean groans under him, working Sam’s ass over his own cock through both their jeans. The friction feels good even for Sam, who spreads his legs as best he can given the cramped space of the Impala’s back bench, desperate to make room for Dean between his cheeks if he can.

There’s a soft thud then as Sam does hit his head on the roof when Dean pushes up with his hips, and when he winces – “shit, sorry, baby” – one of Dean’s hands reach up to hold and shield the back of his head.

Sam keeps moving in the rhythm Dean started, pushing down and hissing at the pressure-drag so close to where he wants it, where he wishes Dean were inside him even if the thought of all the prep and awkwardness in the car had seemed like too much so few minutes ago. His hands slide up Dean’s neck and cup his face, holding it just right so Sam can kiss him deeply, with teeth and tongue both, and Sam can tell from the pull of Dean’s fingers in his hair and at his hip that Dean is close. His thighs are screaming with the effort, in this ridiculous position, but Sam doesn’t let up, just wishes he were riding Dean for real.

“Come on, big brother,” Sam breathes into his mouth. “Like you’re inside me, _fuck_ , like you’re gonna fill me up.”

“ _Sam_ –!” Dean grunts out as he comes, and Sam can feel him shudder underneath him, his hips stuttering even as Sam keeps going, a slow, heavy grind until his brother goes still.

“Fuck,” Dean pants as he gets his other hand on Sam’s face too, and then he’s kissing him back, all the urgency gone, just lazy and sated.

Sam hums into it, relaxing again, letting himself be heavy as he melts into his brother. The exhaustion he felt before starts to creep back in, all the good feelings going soft and fading until the pain comes back in his ribs. Dean must be coming down just the same, because he hisses a little when he shifts under Sam next.

“Arrite, kiddo,” he grumbles, and his voice has that edge to it, the parent edge, the one Dean’s always had just for Sam, especially at bedtime. Sam almost bristles because it makes him feel like he’s twelve years old again, and he’s too old for Dean to talk to him like that, but it makes him feel warm, makes the backseat feel even more like the home he’s always known it to be. “You can have the top, you friggin’ giant. Just– move a second.”

Sam snorts at Dean’s disgruntled show, but he knows his brother. Dean is always the same wherever Sam is concerned – he’s not about to change now, even if Sam is twice the size he used to be.

Sam moves off his brother to let him get into position, shoving both their discarded jackets behind his back as a makeshift pillow, shimmying to make them comfortable, his head against the window. He makes a single sound of disgust as he adjusts himself, and Sam is briefly grateful not to have to deal with a mess like that. Finally, Dean is settled, one knee up against the seat, and there’s a space between his legs that’s familiar and all for Sam.

“Come on already,” he grumbles, arms open, and Sam can’t help the goofy smile on his face as he crawls back on top of his brother, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean rolls his eyes but smiles, too, and his hands are welcome and warm where they rest on Sam’s body, holding him close. They’re all tangled up on the too-small bench, but Sam almost wonders if he wouldn’t rather be here than any hotel bed in the world– not that he’s about to tell Dean that.

He starts to drift quickly, and absently remembers that Bobby is coming to get them.

“Wha’ ‘bout Bobby?” he muses sleepily, not that he _wants_ to move, to sleep in the other seat by himself, but he can feel Dean give his head a shake.

“Don’ care. Too tired. Jus’ sleep, Sammy,” Dean rumbles back quietly, punctuating his words with a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. Sam smiles against Dean’s chest and gives in.

\---

The sun is soft in the still early morning, the air cool, and Bobby can see the Impala up ahead for a good quarter mile before he’s pulling off the road behind them. Putting the truck in park, he can barely make out the top of someone’s head inside, everything still, since they’re obviously sleeping.

“Must be nice,” he mutters to himself, taking the last swig of cold coffee from his mug before throwing open the door and climbing out.

He walks up to the car ready to say just as much, but when he realizes what he’s seeing he stops in his tracks, his cheeks instantly uncomfortably warm.

Dean is passed out in the back seat, and Sam is on top of him, looking impossibly small where Dean hugs him to his chest.

They look peaceful and remind Bobby of a dozen times before, as far back as when Sam was actually small enough to fit where Dean’s got him. Not for the first time, Bobby hopes they’re more careful around other people and sighs, shaking his head.

He turns around and goes back to his truck, climbing back inside.

“You ain’t subtle, boys,” he huffs to himself. He waits a moment, and then lays on the horn.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comment and kudos are love <3 Make sure you hit up [merakieros'](http://merakierosart.tumblr.com/) art and leave it some love, too!


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